


you’re my only compass (i might get lost without you)

by iw4zumi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Model Oikawa Tooru, Photographer Iwaizumi Hajime, Unhealthy Relationships, barely i hate and love angst, iwaizumi has a tattoo sleeve, iwaizumi has mental breakdown about life, model part is minor it’s really just a college au, not with iwaoi don’t worry, oikawa thinks it’s hot and malfunctions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iw4zumi/pseuds/iw4zumi
Summary: Tooru’s stubborn and knows it. He’ll stomp his foot at his friends, go out of his way to outshine his co-workers, take the remote with him to the bathroom afraid they’ll continue without him. He bites back, shouts louder, hell even tears up his own apartment if needed. Sometimes that stubborn pride gets the best of him and he can’t figure out why.orIwaizumi Hajime’s a photography student who’s infatuated with Model Oikawa Tooru.orIwaizumi having a big ole’ crush and not knowing how to handle it.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	you’re my only compass (i might get lost without you)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Orange Candy

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes is all Hajime has to get to Yokohama Modeling agency. A thin layer of sweat glistens his forehead as the sachet of equipment hugs steadily at his shoulder. 

He walks through clusters of people. Some talk amongst themselves about the randomest things that Hajime doesn’t care to latch on to. Others hang around the street nearly freezing to death as they wait for the bus that’s more than five stops away. 

The January weather never seems to warm up. 

“Excuse me.” He dodges someone holding their coffee a little too tentatively to their chest as some of the hazel liquids spill to the side, he sidesteps to keep his attire clean.

He’s dress casually, trousers and a slim fit dress shirt that he rolled up just below his elbows paired with his beanie, his head gets cold easily. He had to search around his entire apartment for fitting shoes. 

There weren't many times he dressed up. His former job was at a cafe and all he had to do was change into a plain black tee with the logo. It was the easiest job he’s ever had, even before in high school when he worked as a pool boy at the local country club or the tattoo parlor as clean up service. 

Hajime’s far out of breath when he arrives. 

As soon as he got back home he was going to take a long nap. All he could feel was pure regret from last night. Not only had his roommate forced him to get drinks, but the night before the big day and feeble-mindedly, he agreed. His agreement was now in a doggy bag filled with alcohol and the double cheeseburger he stomached in five minutes. 

Relief washes over Hajime as his hand comes in contact with the cold metal handles. A rush of warm heat and the smell of floral perfumes welcomes him into the large lobby.

The first thing he notices is the whitest, it’s a lot to take in so early in the morning. 

White paint accommodates the walls with framed photography bouncing from black and white to highly saturated. It’s an interesting design. A long black couch sits in the waiting area next to the front desk and two shiny elevator hums beside each other moving employees to and from. 

The couch looks uncomfortable, not something he would look forward to sitting in. He grimaces at the idea.

The floors were patterned marble grey and contrasted the white which was relief to his eyes. They looked freshly mopped and he was partially nervous he might slip.

A voice clears their throat from behind momentarily stopping his daze. He turns around and spots the blonde waving him over. “Forgive me. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, nice to meet you.” He smiles as he reaches the desk.

“Hello Iwaizumi, the new intern I guess?” He asks as he fidgets with his computer monitor. His voice is soft spoken but he sounds like he’d rather be a million places right now than in that chair. It might be the way he spoke though, placidly. He probably loves his job, Hajime wasn’t very good at reading people but good at assuming.

“Yes, that’s me.” He says feeling another sweat start to break.

He couldn’t be any older than Hajime, his face is young but the bags under his eyes tell Hajime otherwise. “You’re a little late, he won’t be very pleased.” The blonde gives up with the computer, plops back into his chair and starts to twirl out of boredom causing his hair to fan his face. 

Hajime wonders how the boy isn’t on the edge of throwing up. That and the thought of last night makes him queasy. “Sorry, woke up a little late.” He confesses.

“No need to apologize to me,” He takes a binder from the desk and pulls out multiple folders. 

“Right,” 

“This is the schedule for today,” He continues to name different functions and room numbers that Hajime numbly pays attention to. This information would be useless, he was a photographer intern after all, not an assistant. An overwhelming temptation to drop everything and leave the building to get ramen was intriguing to say the least. He pushes the thought away quickly. 

”I have no idea what this is,” The receptionist says. Hajime reminds himself why he was doing this. It’s his dream, his passion to become a professional photographer, something he has always thought about ever since he was a child and he was going to achieve no matter what. 

He grabs each folder with a firm grip making sure not to drop the paper spewed with black ink. “Lastly, everyone’s coffee orders.” He begins to hand the last folder and Hajime goes to grab it. It’s snatched away before he can, he stares bewildered. “I was joking,” He states plainly.

“Of course,” Hajime laughs through his teeth nervously. 

“I like mine strong though, four shots of espresso and two creams.” He clicks his fingers along the furnished desk. Hajime doesn’t question the request and instead snorts. 

The blonde smiles lightly and points to his name tag on the desk. 

_Kenma Kozume, temporary receptionist, graphic designer_.

“Graphic design, that seems exciting?” Hajime questions and Kenma nods, still smiling slightly even though it looks more like a grimace now. “It is when the wifi is working correctly,” He sighs and jams his finger into the red blinking button on the bottom of the monitor, the computer screen stares back blankly. 

“You should get up there before you’re actually late.” Kenma nods his head to the elevator. “ You’re right.” Hajime’s eyes widen. 

“Fifth floor.” Kenma mumbles and Hajime knocks on the desk thanking him before rushing off. His watch reads ten twenty-two. It’s a bit more time than he expects but not a lot. He presses the black number five and and leans on the rail. 

“Hold the elevator!” Someone calls from a few feet away. Hajime’s watches the man run towards him at an uncomfortable speed, almost taking a lick to the floor. He presses ‘close elevator’ and much to his luck the doors don’t comply.

If there’s a worst possible time for this, it’s now. He tries manually pushing the doors together with his free hand like a maniac, the doors don’t budge and he falls into the walls while looking up with a silent prayer. 

As soon as the doors start to close, much to Hajime’s horror a hand inserts itself between them notifying the sensors and he strunts in, not exactly strunts but he walks in with so much confidence it almost suffocates him.

“Morning,” He says in a hoarse voice, almost knocking into Hajime as he enters. Hajime straightens his coat and leans away mumbling morning back. “Can you press six for me.” He asks, waving a hand to the keypad tiredly. Hajime presses six and the elevator doors finally decide to shut. He stops himself from cursing off the doors into existence.

“I’m more out of shape than I thought.” He continues and Hajime prays again that he's not a talker and just allows them to sit in silence for the rest of the ride. 

Hajime’s eyes wander to look at the taller man with fluffy hair, wait, how the hell did he get his hair like that? Hajime tried multiple times but his hair was as stubborn as himself. Hajime tugs on his beanie.

Other than his hair, his figure was clearly slender, broad shoulders, and surprisingly really pretty, like really fucking pretty. Perfect nose, and brown eyes that reminds him of the color of a classic teddy bear. They shimmered in the poor lighting of the elevator somehow.

He runs a hand through the fluffy flop and sips on his capped drink. Hajime wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through the brown locks himself. He’d try his best to be gently, even if it wasn’t his forte. Was it weird that he thinks of things like that, it feels wrong?

“Fucking Galactica.” The stranger murmurs scrolling through his phone. 

Hajime doesn’t understand and says the foreign word without thinking, he fails to pronounce it like the stranger had, the stranger snorts. Hajime glares.

“It’s a good show,” He puts his phone back in his pocket and faces Hajime. Hajime clears his throat, the word seeming to clog his speaking abilities and not because he gets a full view of the brunette. Hajime shrugs his shoulders and puts the bundle of folders in his bag. 

The fifth floor isn’t even that far away, why was it taking so long.

 _Two_.

“I’ve never heard of it.” Hajime says placidly leaning on the back of his heels so his back hits the elevator wall. The stranger with the fluffy hair chuckles, it’s light and makes his stomach flutter in the right places. “I could’ve guessed.” At that Hajime turns, tilts his head on his shoulders and eyes the top of his head to the bottom of his shoes not disappointed. The man does the same, following his actions like a competition. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hajime asks out of curiosity and not to hear the slight hum in his voice as he talks. He smiles and Hajime does a double take. Damn, he really was freakishly beautiful. Hajime could only imagine how his camera would capture the pale skin of his face and pink pucker of his lips seeming to set in a natural pout.

“Nothing too mean, I promise,” The stranger assures.

“Okay.”

It’s silent again. Hajime’s not mad like he expected to be, he's a talker so what. He’s actually relieved and a bit ashamed to admit standing in the elevator next to him for a few minutes would have been the most intimidating moments of his life and he has college lecture classes, so that’s saying something.

 _Three_. 

He suddenly speaks again.

“Can you say it again?“

Hajime’s brows crease distraughtly as he picks at the loose string on the side of his bag. “Say what again?”

The corners of the stranger's lip quirk up. “The title,” Hajime wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t and instead gives him a deadpan stare. “You wanna make fun of me that bad?”

“It’s funnier when you say it,” He points out. Hajime offers a grudging ‘No’, he doesn’t take it. “Please?” The stranger pleas, a coy trick, a way to make him feel special, like he’s the only one who gets to see the amplified pout on his lips, cherry lips actually. He was closer and Hajime could see the glossy texture. He wondered if they tasted like cherry too. 

Then there’s those big puppy eyes, glassy and bigger than normal that probably persuades other women and men, the thought makes his stomach churn.

“That probably works on a lot of people?” The man’s shoulders slant at the defiance.

“Who can deny a face this?” He does the face again and Hajime can’t help but to laugh and he begins to pout like a child. Hajime gets to see the smile again, a smile line still denting his cheeks. He wondered if he smiled hard enough would dimples pop in, there was still so much to learn in so little time. 

He’s wondered a lot of things in less than two minutes and there he was, falling straight into the trap. He says the first thing that comes to mind to deflect the feeling. “It actually makes you look stupid.”

 _Four_.

The man gasps and puts a hand on his chest, yes, actually puts a hand on his chest like they do in cartoons and K-dramas. Talk about theatrics. 

Hajime’s always been blunt since childhood, but never this blunt. Something about his attitude makes Hajime want to push him off a cliff but in the most caring way possible.

_Five._

The doors to the elevator open with a ding and Hajime walks out first, he hopes he wasn’t too mean. He looks over his shoulder as the doors start to close again, “See you around drama queen,” and there’s nothing much Hajime can do but head to his awaiting internship that he’s positive he’s late for.

All he can think about is it was worth it.   
  
  


_______

  
  


He soon learns that it definitely wasn’t worth it. 

When Hajime was eleven he always thought a dream was a mere passion. He used to think the two had nothing in common.

Dreams were thoughts that were impossible to accomplish and passions were something you love to do, something you’d put your heart and soul in just to accomplish.

Hajime learns at twenty two you can’t have a passion without a dream. 

Passions were driven by dreams and that’s what makes them special, passion was the feeling that begins the dream and it’s easier to think they’re compounds a part of a secret potion to rule the world.

It’s only the second day of the internship and he is already feeling exhausted, he wants to take a nap, he loves to take naps but there was always one thing bothering him: family drama, work, or college. 

His sister called him at the ass crack of morning demanding he tell her where her favorite J-pop CD’s were that she left in her car even though he hasn’t been home in about a month. He hung up and put his phone on do not disturb until the actual morning.

He likes to think that the hours between three and five am didn’t exist and were just a void of night terrors and a time for the monsters under his bed to finally stretch their legs. Yes, he still thinks this at twenty-two.

The call wasn’t the only thing that caused his sleep deprivation, it’s the work Ittetsu Takeda had piled on the first day. It’s a futile assignment, snap a photo and edit it to your best ability. Maybe he was trying to scout out the dynamics of their style, who knows. 

He stayed up all night editing pictures on his laptop before it completely crashed halfway through (he’s been pretty lucky these past few days). Then he had to travel to the library to finish and print them with colored ink which cost him away more. He almost passed out on the way back home. 

He walks in the building, same black couch, same white walls. Not like things were going to change daily, unlike the multiple modeling events he’s watched.

“Morning,” he walks up to the desk. Kenma hummed tipping a pen in his hand lazily. He places a hot coffee down on the glossed desk. Kenma almost jumps and the pen scatters down to the floor with a clutter of noises. “Coffee?“ Hajime asks and nudges the cup towards him, holding onto his own.

“Is this for me?” Kenma asks slowly as he brings the drink to his chest. Hajime nods and smiles. Kenma says a short, okay, before opening the coffee lid, it allows the steam to fill his nose and he sighs in content. “You didn’t have to, I was just kidding.” He says and takes a sip.

“I know but I'm feeling pretty good today,” Hajime does a small dance that just consists of lazy jazz hands. Kenma almost chokes on his coffee. 

It’s true, and maybe it’s by the good of god that Hajime woke up and felt like he could run a marathon. The energy drinks would catch up to him eventually but for right now he’s just living in the moment. “Thank you Iwaizumi.”

The doors open causing the cold air to slither its way through the seams of Hajime’s light coat. He hated the cold and didn’t care to wear his beanie today which he finds out to be a horrible idea. 

Three men walk in talking amongst themselves and Hajime looks away, he’s had enough social interaction for the hour until he gets upstairs. He wants to sprint to the elevator like a marathon runner because he’s feeling _that_ good. He looks down at his watch and sighs, “See you later, hope the computer’s working today.” And pats the counter. 

Kenma waves before turning his attention to the screen. 

Hajime thinks he’s done it, he’s going to be early today and get past the unnerving stares of his mentor. Takeda's leadership style was truly interesting, he looked awkward, glasses sticking to his face, hair fanning over his eyes, not slicked back like he had expected and yet his clinical eyes lacked any bashfulness.

“Iwaizumi!” Someone calls and it freezes his half-walk-half-run to the elevator. He looks behind his shoulder to see the raven hair catching up to him, oh. The guy in the program with Hajime, he was nice yesterday but very transparent.

Hajime thinks he’s done it until now.

The bundle of muscles and brain wrap an arm around Hajime’s shoulder and he has to stop himself from shouldering him away. He didn’t enjoy this kind of contact and especially with new people. “Morning Kuroo,” He says to the man with the crazy haircut and he mumbles back.

“Are you ready for the day?” He asks tiredly as they continue walk to the elevator. He’s about to answer when his eyes fall onto the familiar brown ones. Their eyes lock just for a split second, he looks good today, not different than yesterday but still good. He turns away in some form of aggression and it hits him. Hajime dares to laugh and holds the stare for a while longer before looking away. 

They entered the compressed elevator and he 

snaps back into reality, “Ready as i’ll ever be,” 

“That’s the spirit.” He pats his back and unlatches his arm and Hajime is thankful. 

He can still see floppy top talking to Kenma as another stranger holds his waist. Hajime wants to look away but he can’t, something in his stomach makes him watch. The hands run up in the back as he leans on Kenma’s desk and says something like he’s dying, Kenma doesn’t laugh instead flicks his forehead and Hajime is amused. 

“Who’s that guy?” Hajime asks and Kuroo looks up from adjusting his camera as the elevator doors close. “Which one?

The words slip past his mouth before they undergo processing in his brain. “The annoying one.”

Kuroo seems to understand immediately. “Ah, that’s Tooru Oikawa, he works at a different agency but he’s one of the models for today’s project.” 

Model huh? 

Hajime watches the numbers count up and he can’t help but to smile, he should've known, someone that looks like him had to be working in front of the camera and not behind. He looks all too sensitive to be working in such a practical industry but then again, Hajime wasn’t very good at reading people.   
  
  


“These are like, really gross. I can even see the clypeus and ocelli.” Kuroo fake gags. “Are you studying Entomology?” He then asks, a lot of people ask that. 

“Nah, I’ve always had a disgusting interest in bugs since I was kid.” He replies and places his hands behind his back. Kuroo’s camera was surprisingly a bunch of Kenma along with flowers and different building viewpoints.

”Yours are really nice too.” Hajime compliments truthfully, slightly jealous of his work. “I mean I am an A-class photographer?” Hajime chokes on his spit.

Kuroo's laughs and it’s big and loud, he slaps a hand on Hajime’s shoulder from beside him. “I’m messing you with.” Hajime could tell why Kuroo and Kenma were together now, they both didn’t understand the definition of a joke.

Hajime finally catches his breath. A-class photographers were the highest of the highest. They took all sorts of photography; sports, fashion, aerospace, and etcetera. “Damn you.” Kuroo snickers again. He has such a ridiculous laugh, nothing like Oikawa’s which was actually pleasing to listen to. 

He doesn’t know where that comes from. 

Hajime snatches his camera back with a scowl, “Lighten up, they’re almost done setting up.” Kuroo grabs his camera as well.

Hajime looks behind him from the bean bags they sit at, people run around the studio fixing light, backdrops, and wires scattered around. Hajime sees Oikawa sitting in one of the chair as a makeup artist applies something that Hajime couldn’t decipher on his face. 

“So that Oikawa guy?” Hajime taps on his camera aimlessly as uninterested as possible. 

“Oh, I see,” Kuroo smirks. “My best friend would probably go for you and your arm sleeve and spiky hair.” He waves a hand around his hair and arm. Hajime scowls and runs a hand through his hair with his indeed tattooed arm. “But as you see,” His head falls back down and he looks forward with a sigh, almost groan. “There’s a leech attached on his shoulder,” Hajime follows Kuroo’s gaze, Oikawa leans in the chair as the others set up around him. He pushes away the leech with a giggle as he goes in for a kiss. “A really big one.” 

Hajime doesn’t say anything for a moment, watches the way he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle as he laughs, and the slight blush on his cheeks. “That’s too bad,” He looks away.

“Don’t worry, we can go for drinks later, find you a nice gal, or whatever you prefer,” Kuroo suggests with the tilt of his head. That doesn’t sound too bad, nice actually. His hangover is gone, thank god, plus he could use a new friend or two around the area. He agrees and Kuroo seems satisfied.

“Hajime, Tetsurō.” They hear the familiar voice of Takeda. “That’s us.” Kuroo gets up and pats Hajime on the back causing him to lounge toward slightly. Hajime curses under his breath before following. 

“Good morning, sir.” Kuroo says and Hajime almost calls him sir too but he stops himself. The word has been traumatized for him once he started to watch a weird office show. It was scandalous and no matter how hard he tried to stop watching it he couldn’t peel his eyes away. Hajime trails behind Kuroo and straightens up his back. “Morning Takeda-san.” 

He nods at the both of them. “With it being your second day of the program I want to see the experience you have with photo shoots, that’s both what you major in, correct?” 

“Correct.” They both say. Takeda’s phone goes off and holds up his hands. Hajime glanced over at Oikawa, he was surprised to see him already staring, or more so at his arm. Hajime suddenly wants to roll his sleeves down. 

Their eyes catch and there’s a sudden tension in the air that Hajime hadn’t noticed till now, who pissed in his cereal. 

“Today I brought in two volunteer that are happy to work with you today, don’t disappoint me.” Takeda taps away on his phone, they hum and he doesn’t take his eyes away. 

Hajime lazily smirks at him and Oikawa looks him up and down judgingly. Surely he doesn’t expect Hajime to look away now, not with that scrutinizing stare. Just for the fun of it all, Hajime sticks his tongue out boyishly to get a reaction, as he expected, Oikawa looks utterly horrified.

“That won’t be hard,” Hajime turns back to Takeda as he puts his phone away and pushes his glasses further up his face. 

“Hajime you’re first, Kuroo has worked with me before. I’m curious to see what you can bring to the tables.” Hajime nods. “You can count on me.” Kuroo looks like could roll his eyes and it makes Hajime want to laugh, he doesn’t, not in the presence of Takeda. “Good luck.” Kuroo nods.

He takes out his camera designed for these types of events. He would say it’s pretty good considering he bought it with his own money. He’d seen many professionals use it in photoshoots so it had to be the best of the best. Well the best he could afford.

“Don’t shit yourself, loosen up Iwaizumi. This is going to be fun.” Kuroo says low enough for only him to hear, and that he does laugh despite struggling to put his camera together. He rubs his sweaty palms against his pants.

There’s two models lined up on the backdrop, one of them happens to be Oikawa. The woman beside him was absolutely gorgeous. Her skin’s warmer than Hajime’s which makes her stand out in the best way possible and her eyes are a nice green, almost leafy. She’s pretty, _no_ , scratch that. Drop dead gorgeous.

If Hajime had taste in women he’d certainly be a hopeless swooning mess. 

As beautiful as she was, the brunette besides her took over the stands which was slightly annoying. He’s definitely something else. Something Hajime can’t explain even if he tries. 

Oikawa looks over to Hajime, Hajime smiles, he doesn’t. Okay, someone definitely pissed in his cereal. 

“Lights,” Takeda calls out. Multiple flickers go throughout the room. Too many flickers in his opinion, his camera won’t be able to focus. 

“Can we turn off a few?” Hajime asks and puts a hand over his eyes, even Kuroo squints.

Takeda stares at Hajime, actually everybody in the room is staring at Hajime. It felt like it. He feels uneasy and wishes to take the question back. Before he can laugh it off and say never mind, Oikawa beats him to it. “It is really bright in here, you can see my pores can’t you Yuu-chan?” He pouts to the women besides him and rubs his nose. Hajime can feel the makeup artist’s death stare from across the room. 

Tadeka hums and flicks his wrist and a few lights domino off one by one. Hajime’s content and the lightings perfect, even allowing the natural light from the studio windows to show more than the artificial ones. 

He’d have to thank him later. 

  
  


Hajime sits down on the couch with a heavy sigh. That went better than expected. With every click of the camera the models fell into different positions naturally, like a command. 

He scrolls through his camera looking at each picture. Some were blurry but most turned out good, but was it enough? Maybe these aren’t good enough, maybe he’s not good enough. 

Getting in this program should have been enough to show Hajime that he has impeccable skills, even for someone as young as himself. 

He tosses his self loathing out the window and doesn’t notice the couch start to sink, not until his nose fills with a sweet cologne that causes dizziness to his head. To his surprise it’s Oikawa and he turns off his camera and pushes it in his bag. Oikawa seems pleased. Hajime wants to remove the pompous expression. 

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Hajime questions low, Oikawa squirms and crosses his ankle over his knee. He’s closer, far closer than Hajime is comfortable with and Hajime leans back on the couch—which his back will hate him later for—to distance them. “What’s your name?” He suddenly asks, Hajime raises a brow.

“I don’t know, you never know what the enemy might do with such crucial information,”

Oikawa huffs and tries again. 

“I was just really pissed about what you said on the elevator,” He frowns and it would be shitty if he laughed, so he doesn’t. 

Hajime suddenly feels guilty and cringes, it was harsh to say, even for him. “It was really mean, sorry.” He apologizes and frowns to himself.

“No, that's not it.” Oikawa’s brows crease and he falls back mimicking and shouldering Hajime along the away, he mumbles sorry. “What is it then?” Hajime asks confused, ignoring the tingles on his shoulder. 

“I don’t know you frustrate me a lot,”

“A complete stranger is causing you this much stress?” Hajime teases and it causes Oikawa’s face to scutch up. 

“Whatever, at least I can say Galactica.”

“Galactica,” Hajime says smoothly and Oikawa’s eyes are wide. “and you’re wrong it’s a really shitty show.” Maybe Hajime looked up what Galactica was when he got home and maybe he started to watch the show with Japanese subtitles and ended up binging it for a couple hours. “You watched it?” Oikawa astounds, sitting up. “It wasn’t as good as you said, still okay.” He shrugs. “The CGI was pretty bad,” Hajime adds and he chortles. 

“You’ll be at the bar tonight?” Oikawa asks hopefully, Hajime stutters slightly before answering, he hadn’t remembered the last time he stuttered like that. “I guess so,”

“Good, you tell me more later I have to get going.” Hajime looks to the side to see his leech _—boyfriend_ leaning against the front door. Hajime raises a hand in acknowledgment, he nods his head in return. “Let’s go Oikawa, we’ve gotta get down there, now.” He beckons with the motion of his fingers. He’s definitely the normal beautiful standards in Japan, dark brown hair almost black and tousled, high cheekbones and sharp jawline. Miraculously he’s taller than Oikawa, maybe by a couple inches centimeters. 

It’s the attitude that throws him off, the tone in which he speaks is rushed and pushy. Hajime decides he doesn’t like it. Oikawa takes a deep breath, it sounds tremulous to his own ears but then he smiles and it’s bright and jubilant. “What are they going to do, suspend you for being late?” He says playfully and hops off the couch. Hajime’s hands twitch and his brain tries to stop himself from grabbing Oikawa’s wrist just to create conversations, but it’s a good thing his body doesn't alway follow in command. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime, thanks for the help today.” He says and Oikawa’s skin is warm and tender as his thumb pushes around his wrist. Oikawa gaps at the hold, it’s soft and easy enough for him to slip out and just catches his attention right in time. Hajime knows what he's doing is wrong, severely wrong; he just wants to see that smile one more time. 

And he’s confused at first and a part of him wants to reach out and smoothen the furrow between Oikawa’s brows with his thumb. It's a process until he breaks into a toothy grin, “Oikawa Tooru.” He introduces and Hajime allows his hand to fall out of his cold fingers. 

_I’ll see you tonight_ , Hajime almost laughs at the thought of saying it, he really really wants to but that’s be all too much, he watches as they leave the facility hand in hand.

  
  
  


_______

  
  
  


The air is brisk and cold and the soft tunes of chimes sing. Hajime inhales and exhales and a misty clouds take its place.

Evening shadows deepen into a nice blue-ish purple. He stops momentarily and snaps a photo and the wind picks up. That great blow of crisp wind reminds him of his whereabouts, he continues on his walk.

The chimes are heard once again, but at his doing. His mouth waters at the smell of fresh baked goods and coffee beans. “Hey Suzuki,” He greets the cashier. The blonde boy looks up from his book and waves Hajime over.

This is his favorite place to go when he needs to think or get things off his mind, so that was almost every week.

The small café was buried in between a small alley and not many people are clustered here during this time of night, a perfect opportunity to get work done.

They’ve come accustomed to his usual order and the owner of the store has taken a liking to Hajime’s random but frequent visits. “What are you reading?” He asks and turns his head to get a better view, Suzuki laughs and turns the book so Hajime stops straining his neck.

He stares blankly at the word problems. 

“You don’t understand, do you?” He asks cheekily after a while.

“Not really,” Hajime admits and ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly. Suzuki closes the book and it gives Hajime an opportunity to read the cover, _Calculus and Analysis_. That’s definitely why he couldn’t understand. 

“The regular, right?” Suzuki starts ringing up items on the register. “Actually just the cookies, I need something in my stomach before I go out.” He pulls out his card and Suzuki nods for him to insert it.

“Don’t drink too much, you know you can’t hold alcohol,” He comments slyly as he passes Hajime his receipt. Hajime huffs and he snickers behind the desert case and puts a few orange zested cookies in a bag. “How long are you going to hold that on me?” 

“When you don’t have the urge to throw up after three drinks,” Suzuki hands him the white paper bag. He knows he has no mean intent and his words are light hearted but he still snatches the bag with feigned annoyance, Suzuki chuckles. 

The owner of the store emerges from the back and claps her hands as she sees him. “Oh Iwaizumi, you’re here, how’s the internship?”

“Oh yeah tell us, met any stuck ups yet?” Suzuki rests his chin in his hands. 

“Not yet, everyone’s pretty nice so far, boss is a little scary though,” 

“Do you need me to ruff him up for you?” The seventy year old women say humorously. Hajime stifles a laugh. “It’s fine, honestly.” Suzuki hids his giggles and Hajime sends him a playful glare. 

“I wish you would come here more often when you weren’t stressed or had a pile of work to do!” Natsu complains, eyeing his book bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I will Natsu-san, I promise,” He replies to the older women. She waves him off stubbornly. The wrinkles under her eyes sagged heavily and her mouth was pursed into a sloppy frown. 

Some days she acted like his own grandmother which was just a reminder of how sweet but vigorous she could be. “Do you have a girlfriend yet? You’re so lonely all the time.” Did he mention vigorous?

“Obaa-san I think ‘zumi has a lot of work to do right now,” Suzuki saves the day and places his hands on his grandmother’s shoulders. 

“You and my granddaughter would look perfect together. I should call her,” She takes out the phone in her apron “That’s okay Natsu-san, really,” Hajime put a hand out, bag crinkling as he does so. “Very picky, ‘bout my grandson,” Natsu questions. Hajime felt a heat rise up his neck and onto his cheeks. He wants nothing more to do with this conversation. Suzuki mirrors his expression.

“I’m kidding,” Natsu pinches Hajime’s cheek on his already florid complexion. “You carry on, remember to bring back that sweet pair with the pink hair and judgy eyes. So cute.” Natsu says and pushed a cart away to the back. 

He sighs and pulls out his laptop and began to work on an essay that was due in few hours.  
  


The beer is good and his stomach is happy. Hajime doesn’t usually drink beer but it’s free so he obliges. 

“That’s thirteen,” He counts as Kuroo stuffs another egg roll in his mouth. The music’s loud but easy to talk over even in a hushed voice. He peers through a sudden fog of cigarette smoke as a lousy man passes by and contaminates his lungs with the nicotine. Hajime swallows the cough crawling up his throat. 

“You guys are so gross,” Kenma taps away on his phone, he couldn’t argue. Men are gross.

It takes a while for Kuroo to respond, he swallows the pork and vegetables before chasing it down with alcohol. Hajime pops one in his mouth and takes a sip of his first round for the past hour. He's satisfied with drinking little tonight, not very keen with the idea of getting hammered when he has class the next day.

“I could do more but I might throw up,” He groans and bumps his head on the table with a thunk. Kenma looks up momentarily, his eyes fall to the table. “Great first impression, stuffing egg rolls in your mouth while drunk.” Kenma chides. Kuroo sits up at that and turns to Hajime who’s watching people navigate through the crowd.

Hajime doesn’t know what he’s looking for. 

“We’re here to find him a nice hookup. Of course I need to get a little drunk for this Kenma,” Kuroo grins and it’s toothy and filled with excitement and he suddenly remembers why they’ve decided to go to the bar today. 

“No no it’s fine, just wanted a couple drinks before the weekends over,” He tips the rest back, it doesn’t burn his throat, just leaves a bitter taste in the back of it, he definitely needs something different. 

Before he knows it the glass is being refilled by the nice waiter carrying a pitcher of the foamy alcohol. Hajime smiles and thanks her before she passes to the next table.

“Anytime,” She replies, Hajime nods and turns back to the table to sip on his second glass for the night. “Sure ‘bout that?” Kuroo asks with a catlike smirk, it’s creepy, like really creepy. It makes him look like he committed a crime and got away with it. 

“What are you talking about?” He asks and Kuroo grabs the napkin tucked under the glass and he unfolds the crinkled paper. Hajime feels himself start to get queasy.

_Call me. xoxo._

There’s a bunch of numbers in bright pink ink and Hajime can’t help but to glances over his shoulder as she entertains other tables. He crumples the paper back up and tosses it in the nearest trash can and almost misses. 

Kuroo looks bewildered and grabs both of Hajime's shoulders, he ducks but fails to get away in the crammed booth. “Whyyy? She’s perfect for you, even shorter!” He chides and Hajime offers a crooked smile. 

Kenma even looks a little curious. “People have different taste, Kuroo.” He defends and picks off lint from his sleeve. Kuroo untightens his grip on his shoulder and frowns, but he’s right, she’s a nice sight to look at. Shiny black hair down to her back and pretty blue eyes that cause her stand out from the other girls just the slightest. The outfit definitely defines the curvature of her back, perked chest, and flat stomach. Again, Hajime is extremely gay. 

“I just want to hang out with you guys,” He says truthfully at which Kuroo completely uncoils his arms off Hajime's sides. 

“How do you like the agency so far?” Kenma asks sipping on a shirley temple through a straw. Hajime is happy about the topic change and grabs another eggroll. “It’s really nice actually, I’m learning a few things I haven’t really thought about.”

Kuroo nods and props his chin on his hands. “Takeda’s a great mentor, a little scary but great at teaching,”

“Emphasis on scary,” He fakes a shudder and Kuroo chuckles. 

“I don’t see it,” Kenma comments, passing his cherry to Kuroo who happily takes the ripe fruit in his mouth.

“That’s because you both have the same attitude which is kind of weird my boss and boyfriend have that in common,” Kuroo’s eyebrows pinch, Kenma looks unfazed and sips back on his drink. “That’s not true,”

“Totally is,”

“No,”

“Is too,”

“It’s not, Kuroo,”

“Yuh-huh.”

Hajime’s lips curl at their silly banter and suddenly he has to piss really badly. It’s a weird trip to the bathroom, he bumps into multiple nicotine addicts who offer him a cigarette in the middle of his piss. He declines as nicely as possible before washing his hands with the slimy soap dispenser and gets the fuck out of there. 

Hajime’s seat is occupied when he returns. Kuroo waves him over and pats the empty area between Kenma. 

He looks back and forth between them and the bar before he’s holding up his index finger, _hold on._

Retaliation is quick as light and Kuroo raises his middle finger. Hajime boyishly grins and waves.

In the meanwhile he gets a drink, he can’t keep sipping light and insubstantially for the rest of the night. The bartender hands him the shot and he tilts his head back, there’s a light and familiar tingle sensation in the back of his throat and he’s beatific. 

His fingertips lather with condensation and waves over one more shot with two bills in his hand. They take it without complaint. Bartenders are covetous, don’t care too much if you’re on the edge of alcohol poisoning and still pour another round.

He downs the drink and feels a bit better. 

“Hey, I haven’t formally introduced myself yet, Satoshi.” Someone sits on the stool beside him. Hajime does a once over and takes the man’s extended hand. “Just Satoshi?” Hajime asks with the lift of his brow. 

“Just Satoshi.” He repeats. 

He releases his hand first and Hajime is horribly satisfied with the fact.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” He introduces and Satoshi smiles and it’s not entirely pretty. “Have you bought a round already?” He asks and Hajime’s about to decline because he knows he’s had a full glass and two shots, but then remembers he’s a grown ass man and certainly can hold his alcohol. “Another one couldn’t hurt,” He huffs and inclines his neck to loosen out the knots.

Satoshi beckons the bartender with the flick of his wrist and Hajime is having another with an almost complete stranger. He tries not to sour his face from the ache in his throat as he downs the inebriating hard liquor. 

“That’s a nice sleeve, where’d you get it?” He makes conversation. Despite Satoshi’s demanding ambiance, he’s a simple man. “I used to work at a tattoo parlor, got it there.” Hajime looks down at his arm and Satoshi simply nods, not seeming to want to engage in any longer casual conversation.

He must have come over here for something. 

“So how do you know Tooru?” 

Ah, there it is.

Tooru, the name itches the back of his head like an annoying woodpecker gnawing away on tree bark. Then it hits him, Oikawa’s boyfriend. He wasn’t good at faces and feels guilty for forgetting the man even though he clearly remembers Hajime.

“I don’t, just met him.” Hajime replies truthfully. He turns fully to Hajime and he looks up from his drink. “You guys seem like old pals?” He frowns and it’s clear he doesn’t believe him.

“Let me guess,” He slightly tramples over his words.

“You’re the insecure boyfriend who fumbles every time your boyfriend talks to another man, right?” Hajime asks freely and knows the alcohol is starting to kick in which is not good.

There’s simply two sides to him when he’s under the influence; the chatty blunt bitch that won’t shut the fuck up or the horny monster that makes random appearances whenever they feel like. Thankful it’s just the chatty blunt bitch. 

At that Satoshi laughs and it actually sounds real. “No Hajime, that’s not it,”

“Iwaizumi.” Hajime strains through his teeth and waves a different bartender over again for a glass of water and thanks them. An aspirin would be nice too. 

“Excuse me, _Iwaizumi_ ,” Satoshi corrects and his tone is accusatory, it doesn’t sit right in his stomach. 

“Where is he by the way?” He’s nonchalant about it, doesn’t really care but curiosity gets the best of people sometimes.

Satoshi raises an eyebrow, he raises one back. “Why, wanna fuck him?” The vulgarity not only surprises him, it angers him to the core and the grip on his glass tightens. It’s a bad take for a joke honestly and the originality is lacking. He’s glad Satoshi doesn’t notice the slight tremble of his hand as he sputters a laugh. It doesn’t take a lot to respond.

“I mean you came over to talk to me. Is this really a question for Oikawa or you?” He raises a brow.

It's contemptuous but he’ll scold himself later.

“Man, you’re weird,” Satoshi shakes his head and there it is again, turning the tables around so the fault falls on him instead of both of them.

He’s unimpressed by the comment and giggles. “Yeah, I’m definitely the weird one here,” He sighs and feels like he needs another drink.

He’s quiet for a minute and Hajime enjoys the minute of silence from the man and indulges in the music. The silence is short and doesn’t last like Hajime had expected. There’s a heavy sigh besides him and Satoshi is squeezing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re right,” He confesses.

“I don’t want to start anything especially with a new person.” At the mention of a fight the bartender turns and stops momentarily cleaning a glass. Hajime doesn’t think that low of himself to even picture a fight with this guy, it'd be unfair.

Hajime’s confidence is certainly skyrocketing with his alcohol intake. 

“I just really care about Tooru and it’s weird to see him just open up to new people like that,” He sounds tired and extends his hand again.

“Let’s start over,” He starts but Hajime beats him to and lays a few bills as a tip to the bartenders. He's a broke college student with little income so it takes everything in him to not stuff the money back in his pocket. 

He stares blankly at him and decides it’s best to walk away, so that's what he does. Hajime doesn’t go back to the table and leaves the packed area. He feels like he started a game he didn’t intend to play.

  
  


_______  
  
  
  


Tooru stuffs his mouth with another spoon full of cereal. The taste of sweet artificial flavorings causes him to sigh in content. 

A strain itches his eyes and struggles to stay awake. He nearly face plants into the bowl. 

It was at the crack of dawn, the sun had slowly crept its way from horizon and out into the yellow and orange humming sky. All lights were off, the natural hue was just enough to make out the couch and table. 

Tooru is alone like he is most of the time in his single bedroom apartment sitting on the counter of his kitchen. Animated figures fight aimlessly on his phone and the cheap production clear as day.

He should go to sleep, it’s five in the morning and he’s a busy man. Tooru shuts his eyes tightly and opens them again in an effort to stay awake. One more episode was all he wanted but there’s no way he could take the dizzy strain in his head anymore. This was the longest Tooru has stayed up in a while.

The curse of over thinking seems to do no good and his only distraction is old reruns of sci-fi flicks. 

Tooru stumbles onto his memory foam bed and his body sinks at the touch. It's cold but comforting. His fingers wrap around the covers and the white of his knuckles are deep in the blanket as it feathers over him effortlessly. 

It’s different from his bed at home, not in a good way either. He could still hear the old creaks and crackles every time he moved or the immense heat it absorbed causing many coverless nights during the summer. 

On this one he was always cold and he suddenly feels homesick.

Aching muscles scream at him, begging to release knotted tendons. It could be from his bad posture or various angles he had to adapt to during work. With one finally grimace, he lets his body fall under the pressure with a pain so prominent in his head that it’s throbbing. 

He closes his eyes, the thought of sleep was a begging cry for mercy and he doesn’t know why everything feels so melancholy and his slender fingers massaged at his temples, a plea to nullify anything. Sleep doesn’t come easily for him when it snows, it’s either too cold or too hot and it annoys him.

At times he was aware and there’s a solid moment when his mind slips in and out of consciousness, enough for the sudden noise of the air conditioner or footsteps from above to wake him. 

That conscious part of his brain always knocks on all sides of his head, trying to be let out of a locked cage that it knew it couldn’t escape. 

There’s a change in the atmosphere, something heavy in the air beside him and a lingering feeling on his face, it was faint, but he was aware. A small pull in his chest and jittering feeling in his stomach erupts. 

He wanted nothing more to open his eyes but he knew once he did the feeling would vanish. It actually didn’t feel bad this time.

His body joints at the sudden pressure of his lips. His cheeks hot and flushed, a sense of fear washed over him as he hesitated to touch his mouth, scared the tingling sensation would leave. 

With a handful of covers he turns on his lamp, the dark becoming too vivid for his own bleary vision. 

An hour passes before he shuts his eyes again.  
  


Glass shards cover the floor the morning after and it takes two espressos and five deep breaths for Tooru to begin cleaning up. 

He cuts his fingers a few times and runs his hand through cold water to soothe the pain. It helps, his fingers turn numb and tips start to turn blue before he finally pulls away. It feels better, he thinks bandaging two of ten fingers and satisfied there wasn’t anymore damage done.

Although his chest still hurt.

He fixes the flipped coffee table with little struggle and cleans the rest of what was destroyed or broken in the heat of the moment.

Tooru’s stubborn and knows it. He’ll stomp his foot at his friends, go out of his way to outshine his co-workers, take the remote with him to the bathroom afraid they’ll continue without him. He bites back, shouts louder, hell even tears up his own apartment if needed. Sometimes that stubborn pride gets the best of him and he can’t figure out why.

Innocent arguments turn volatile and then picture frames get broken, words start hurting worse the more truthfully they sound and his neighbors are royally pissed.

He’s studied the five languages of love: words of affirmation, physical touch, receiving gifts, quality time, and acts of services. Five different categories that can affect a relationship in the worst and best ways. It just doesn’t make sense to him. They’re a good pair, they encourage and prioritize each other and they have sloppy kisses in the morning and they go out to dinner together when they have time. So what’s the matter? Tooru’s sure he’s done everything and there’s no practical explanation why it’s not working, why _they’re_ not working. His head starts to hurt again and the three knocks on his door make it worse. 

Tooru doesn’t hesitate at the door, if it is him he already knows what he's going to say, or what he’s not going to say. This morning's mirror pep talk was a good one. 

“Oh, it’s just you,” He moves back to his couch.

Kuroo raises an arched eyebrow. “Just your best friend who was happening to feel nice and get you breakfast?” He walks freely into Tooru apartment with shoes on. He glares from his position on the couch. Kuroo rolls his eyes and kicks his shoes off and Tooru forces his mouth shut. Food wasn’t a bad idea right now. “Yeah just me,”

“What’d you get me?” Tooru sits up reaching for whatever greasy breakfast sandwich was in the brown paper bag. 

Kuroo's eyes sweep over his hair and pajama bottoms. “What?” He asks.

“You look, like shit,”

Tooru looks down at his shirt and back at Kuroo.

“You’re gonna need more than breakfast,” He ruffles his hair which causes a series of whines to escape Tooru’s throat as Kuroo trots in the kitchen. “You’re a meany,” He whines and Kuroo’s plops the bag down on the counter. 

“Come eat, fatass!” He yells and Tooru can hear food condiments being moved around. He whines louder. “I’m too tired, please bring it to me,” 

“No, you’re going to be mad at _me_ if _you_ drop sauce or something on the couch,” He shouts and unwraps his own sandwich. Tooru hates how right he is and allows a silence to flow before he grudgingly walks into the kitchen and greets Kuroo’s ass as he searches through his fridge. He has urges to kick it but he won’t.

Kuroo cracks open a water bottle and kicks the fridge close just as Tooru grabs his own sandwich and hurriedly bites into it wordlessly. 

“How polite,” He grins behind the bottle top despite Tooru’s sullen attitude.

After a moment he heaves and licks the excess water off his lips. “I’m pissed you stood us up,” 

“Thought you would be.” Tooru says munching on his tamago sando. “Iwaizumi was the only one who showed up, but he ditched.” Kuroo groans and leans on the counter opposite to Tooru and digs into his own food.

His head perks up at the mention of Iwaizumi, the mysterious photography student with the tattoos Tooru definitely hadn’t noticed painted in black ink across his arm and definitely didn’t notice how firm they look. No fuck it, he was definitely looking.

Tooru had looked forward to going later that night, finally able to indulge in a conversation that wouldn’t give him weird looks as he spoke about space like a child still hooked on the creatures of space. Iwaizumi was weird, but a good kind of weird that Tooru wanted to know more about. Even if he did insult him without a second thought, he was intrigued. 

It’s quiet for a minute too long before he parses the tense air. When he looks up, Kuroo looks down at his hands. Tooru swallows thickly. 

“What happened?” Kuroo’s curious cat eyes linger on his fingers and he feels sick. “Nothing, I cut myself accidentally,” He sniffes and plays with the Hello Kitty bandages with little interest. “It’s kinda stylish if you ask me,” and wiggles his fingers. Kuroo’s face hardens. Tooru frowns and squirm slightly on the stool at the intensity of the stare. 

It’s quiet again and Kuroo doesn’t ask any further questions so he looks out the window in his living room. He hates the silence and fills it with his chewing as he peers at the white piles. It snowed hard last night and a shiver runs up his spine at the thought of how freezing his car must feel, it reminds him to turn up the heat later on.

Kuroo takes a deep breath and places a steady hand on the counter.

“Did he hurt you, Oikawa?” The question is sudden. Tooru stares blankly at Kuroo and he mirrors his expression. It makes him want to throw up everything he just ate.

“Who?” He asks dubiously.

“Santa Claus,” He remarks facetiously, Tooru would have laughed if given better context. Kuroo’s face twists into disdain before speaking. “Satoshi,” 

“No,” He grits his teeth and suddenly doesn’t feel hungry anymore. “Stop asking me that every time I get hurt, it’s annoying,” Tooru says in absolute frustration. Kuroo’s jaw clenches and he pushes his food aside too. “Then what the hell happened?” Kuroo’s voice raises and it makes his bottom lip jitter.

“I told you I cut my hand. Do you wanna see the fucking glass to prove it?” He spits clutching his hands around the wrapper.

“Yeah, actually I fucking do.” He stands.

Tooru slams a fist into the counter and could of sworn he heard a crack. Kuroo doesn’t flinch but his face softens when their eyes meet again and Tooru looks away because he’s an obdurate mess and starts feeling vulnerable. He takes a deep breath and his eyes feel heavy from the lack of sleep that sting at the corners. He swallows the broken noises threatening to spill from his lips and wants to go back to sleep or somewhere to take his mind away from everything. He opts to bury his face in the comfort of his arms as his head lays on the counter. 

He hears the trash can opening and a sigh of relief sounds through the kitchen. Kuroo sits on the stool beside Tooru and rubs his back soothingly. It helps slightly but he still feels extremely tired. He doesn’t know if it’s mentally or physically.

He is grateful for his friend. Kuroo has always looked out for Oikawa. He always has his back and knows he just wants what is right for him and that stops Tooru from looking up because he’s scared, he’s fidgeting with anxiety and hides it behind the smile Kuroo can make out within seconds. He hates him for it too. 

“We broke up last night,” He says quietly after a while of silent back rubs.

“Again?” Kuroo asks incredibly and he looks up. “Sorry sorry, keep going,” He persuades. 

“There was a lot of yelling and the neighbors called the landlord on me and I almost got evicted, fucking snitches,” Tooru rest his cheek on the counter so he can look up at his friend and blinks back a few tears.

“Is that how the glass broke?”

Tooru nods. 

“Do you think it’s official this time?”

He shrugs. 

Kuroo sighs and Tooru thinks he going to scold him. “Me and Kenma will be over later with ice cream,” At this Tooru chirps up. “Can you also bring Dumbo, I haven’t seen it in a while.” He pleas. 

“You want to cry to an elephant with ears the size of his body?” Kuroo deadpans. Tooru nods happily and he knows Kuroo has to oblige. “Whatever, in the meanwhile please take a shower before class, your hair looks terrible!” He takes his phone out before Tooru gets the chance to protest and snaps a photo. 

“Delete that!” He squeals, Kuroo lifts his phone above his head and leans away. “Shower, you stink too,” He wrinkles his nose and feigns a gag.

“You’ve betrayed me, one of my closest friends has betrayed me behind my back at my darkest of times.” He’s back to his normal theatrical self and Kuroo smiles genuinely. 

Things will be better this time, Tooru tells himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> what are your thoughts on satoshi?
> 
> thanks for reading tell me what you think <3 new chapter will be out soon <3 this fic will probably be around five chapters!


End file.
